


Misuz Nitewing

by chamsie



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Baby Bruce, M/M, Slow Burn, Time Travel, a little bit of language, but does it count if Bruce is like 5?, chp 2 is a very long set up, somewhat scary fight scene, thanks all for your interest! I hope you like chp 2 :D
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2018-10-18 15:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10619697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamsie/pseuds/chamsie
Summary: Based on Silencing's prompt, young Bruce mistakes time travelling Nightwing for his husband.





	1. 1: First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightwing is extremely likeable and Bruce discovers this for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third instance of a young/de-aged Bruce appearing in my works. There is most definitely a pattern, and if you could see my wips rn, you'd know how much of a pattern. 
> 
> Thank you [Silencing](http://silencingthedrums.tumblr.com/) for allowing me to try your [prompt](http://silencingthedrums.tumblr.com/post/149424408852/silencingthedrums-au-where-youngbruce-mistakes#notes)! [Shybugbatty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shybugbatty/pseuds/Shybugbatty) wrote an [excellent rendition](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1506959/chapters/3183137), which inspired me to try my own hand at the idea. 
> 
> It does ramble on for a long time, and things won't pick up until chp 2. In recompense I tried to stuff this opening chapter with as much fluff as I possibly could, and if you'll bear with me, I promise there'll be more action in the coming chapters.
> 
> I underestimated the effort needed to complete this chapter. Baby Bruce and the plot wouldn't let me go until they had things explained to their satisfaction. I never understood until now how people could write/post chapters longer than 2K at once. I spent a lot of time hammering this one out, so I hope you enjoy it! (●´ω｀●) This is where all my extra time has been going to! 
> 
> I'll edit this ~~tmrw~~ /over time. :P Please forgive any errors bc I'm just so excited to get this out that I haven't bothered to read it over several times like I usually try to do. And why do I keep posting at night...when no one's awake to even see this? ~~(Should this be teen? The fight scene was rather scary imo.)~~ No one's complained, so I guess not.

Bruce Wayne was lost. Terribly so. So lost, in fact, that he fell under the ‘taken by force’ rather than the ‘taken by life’s wanderings’ category. He’d been on the way home from school when several men had driven up and man-handled him into their van.  It had been scary for all of five minutes and then he’d just been disappointed because Mommy had taught him better than to be kidnapped so easily.  He tried struggling, but this annoyed his kidnappers and they must have knocked him out or given him something as Bruce woke up an indefinite amount of time later in a dank warehouse.  

 

He was in the center of a clear space, tied to a wooden chair. All around were stacks of crates - shipping and wooden - and a smaller scuffed crate doubled for a table before him.  His arms were wrenched behind him in an awkward position that made it difficult to wiggle and look for openings, and his entire body wrapped to the chair by stiff ropes that dug painfully into his arms. Whoever had tied them hadn’t thought to make certain Bruce was comfortable, that was for sure.  The ropes were also incredibly scratchy, and Bruce itched where they met his skin.

 

The whole situation felt like a scene from one of his daddy’s _Grey Ghost_ episodes. If Mommy were here, she would have called them ‘klee-shay’ right before unleashing her fury upon them.

 

“No funny business, boy,” one of the kidnappers said.  He thrust his face near Bruce’s, mouth open in a snarl.  His breath was terrible - very garlicky - and he wasn’t so much intimidating Bruce as he was disgusting him.  Mommy was scarier before she’d had coffee in the morning.  The kidnapper leaned back, held up his handgun with a click, and that’s when Bruce felt some fear.  “I wouldn’t want to use this on you.  Bet a kid like you has never been shot.  If you’re nice and obedient, we’ll have you back to Mommy and Daddy soon enough.”  

 

Bruce gulped but didn’t reply.  The smelly kidnapper noticed the way he eyed the gun and decided that was good enough.  

 

One would think being kidnapped a high energy situation, but a long time passed without anything happening and Bruce was more than ready to not be kidnapped.  When Mommy taught him survival skills, she’d never specified how utterly _boring_ it was to be a hostage.  Without him being melodramatic, the men did nothing but lounge around and chat.

 

For want of something to do, he’d named all of his kidnappers.  There were seven in total.  The stinky kidnapper who’d threatened him appeared to be in charge of the motley crew; he’d just left to take a phone call somewhere in the area behind Bruce.  The child had christened him “Garlic Breath” in honour of his horrendous smell.  A smoker who’d already gone through half a pack in the time Bruce woke up was appropriately called Mr. Cigarette and the mousy man on his left was called Card Shark because he’d asked the group at large to play poker eight times without anyone agreeing to.   

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Garlic Breath greeted when he came back to the open space.  He threw down something big and plastic on the crate-table.  It was painted black, about the size of a brick, and it took Bruce a moment to realize it was a cellphone.   _Wow!_  Even Bruce’s parents didn’t have those (but only because Daddy preferred his pager and Mommy thought they were stupidly clunky, more hindrance than convenience).  “The boys mixed up the times.  Gotta babysit the brat another hour before they can swing by for him.”  

 

A chorus of groans chimed at the announcement.  Bathtub Please (a sweaty man whose taupe was very obvious) scoffed, “I’m missing the final episode of _Emergency Room_ for this!”  

 

“Anyone wanna play poker?”

 

“No, Greg!”

 

Bruce couldn’t stop a snicker in time and then Garlic Breath snapped.  The man was the most foul tempered of the seven and Bruce had spent most of his time quietly observing and trying his best not to set him off.  He turned on Bruce, stomping right up to his chair and whipping out his gun again.  

 

“Shut up!” Garlic Breath snarled, face dark with ire.  “Shut up or I’ll hit you.” He gestured violently with the firearm, swinging so close to Bruce’s head that he flinched. “Just because we need you alive doesn’t mean we need you healthy.”  

 

“I don’t think so, buddy.” Came a voice from the rafters above. The lights cut, dimming the room. Afternoon sun still streamed in through warehouse windows so high up that it did little to help differentiate shape in the now mostly-dark space.

  
  
A hush settled over everyone. Garlic Breath had whirled away from Bruce to stare out at the warehouse.  Unlike them, Bruce hadn’t once looked away from the cocked gun in Garlic Breath’s hand.  It was the most dangerous element in the room, even with the new addition.  

 

Tensed and eyes darting as they spun carefully to try and spot the intruder, the bad men started creeping across the warehouse floor.  Mr. Cigarette was the nearest to the voice.  He inched forward some more, the gun he’d pulled from his inside pocket now cocked and aimed before him.  Suddenly, a black shape leapt down off a crate stack, smashing him in the face on its way. The kidnapper went down like a log: with a terrible clatter, his gun dropping to the floor and spinning out of sight. Everyone lunged towards the shape, but it was already off, spinning and leaping, dispatching the men so fast that Bruce was sure he'd have missed it all if he blinked. Soon the warehouse floor was littered with groaning bodies.

 

Once the shape stopped, Bruce got his first good look at it. The shape was a man, dressed all peculiar in a skintight black bodysuit with a bright blue bird across the chest. Bruce could see impressive muscles under the material, and a metal rod - about a foot long - was held in one of his hands, which he twirled expertly several times. Under different circumstances, Bruce was sure he’d have found the man ridiculous, but having just witnessed him take down seven grown men no sweat, the stranger was intimidating (and just plain cool).  

 

When he looked over at Bruce, he seemed floored. Bruce noted how he stiffened, his face somehow conveying wide-eyed staring despite the domino mask obscuring his gaze.  The man collected himself, tucked his stick into a holder somewhere on his back, and stepped over beside Bruce. He crouched down and inspected the ropes tying Bruce.

  
"Hold still," the man said gently. From the corner of his eye, Bruce saw him pull out a funny looking knife from one of his boots, and after some fiddling, the ropes binding him fell away easily.

 

After being bound for so long, the release of pressure hurt, making Bruce gasp. The man guided his arms forward gingerly, holding his wrists (which were ringed in bright red, purple in some spots) very gently. Bruce thought it was forward of him to touch without asking first, but the man didn't do anything untoward. He simply rubbed the skin there, massaging feeling back into the tender flesh. It was actually very comforting, so Bruce supposed he could let it pass. (1)

 

Several seconds went by before his saviour finally remembered some manners because he asked, “Does this hurt?” His fingers continued to massage gently at Bruce’s skin.

 

“No,” Bruce said. Because he was becoming shy, he also added, “I’m okay now.”

 

Then he tugged his wrists back to himself and slid off the chair. His legs had fallen asleep after sitting for a length and he buckled as tingles ran up them. The man in black steadied him quickly with a hand to his shoulder. “Careful there.”

 

Once Bruce was steady again, the boy quickly took a step back to put some distance between him and the man in black.  

 

The man cocked his head in confusion. “Kid, you’re gonna have to stick closer than that if you don’t want to get lost when we leave.”

 

“No, I’m not going with you. You’re a stranger,” Bruce informed his rescuer. “Mommy and Daddy always says to a-void them.” He stumbled over the word slowly, blue eyes comically severe as he stared up.  

 

The man asked, “Even though I just saved you?”

 

Bruce's reply was to frown stonily at him.  

 

The man was contemplative.  After a moment he said, “What if I can guess your name?  I can’t be a stranger if I know your name, right?”

 

Bruce thought this over.  It would be acceptable logic for most people, if not for one thing.  “Lots of people know my name though.”  His parents were _Martha_ and _Thomas Wayne_.  Everyone knew them and Bruce was relatively well known.   Knowing his name didn’t mean Bruce knew the man better than a stranger.  

 

The man jolted in surprise, a weird smile coming over his face.  It made Bruce want to squirm, embarrassed for no particular reason.  “Hmm, that’s true.  What if I guess your name _and_ the name of your best friend?  I bet most people wouldn’t know that!”

 

Bruce stared up at him, unimpressed.  That was illogical; if you didn’t know someone then they were a stranger, end of story.  Regardless, the man was obviously bluffing because Bruce wracked his mind, but he wasn’t even sure he _had_ a best friend.  No one at school really wanted to play with him except maybe Tommy, and he didn’t know any other children outside of school. Something of his thoughts must have shown in his face because the man was soon kneeling and giving Bruce an incredibly soft smile.  “You’re Bruce Wayne,” he said, “and Alfred Pennyworth is your best friend.”  

 

Alfie? His best friend? Bruce turned it over in his mind, wondering, and gasped upon realizing the stranger was correct. Alfie was paid to look after him, but the butler also played with Bruce, made his favourite snacks, and the boy trusted him with his secrets. Bruce didn’t have many friends; the butler definitely ranked among the highest he did have.

 

 _Huh..._ Alfred was his best friend, wasn’t he? He fit the criteria for one. How clever for this stranger to have known.

 

Too clever though...how did this man even know that? Bruce hadn’t actually expected the man to have a correct answer, let alone an answer that Bruce himself hadn’t had. And the man was still a stranger, even if he was probably a stalker too. As Mommy said: stalkers are strangers, just very weird and sometimes scary.

 

“Who are you?” He asked, staring up warily at the man. “How did you know?”

 

The man smiled at him, “Bruce, maybe you won’t believe me, but I’m a superhero.”

 

Bruce hadn’t anticipated that sort of answer.  “A superhero?”

 

“Yep!” The man popped his ‘p’ as if he was chewing bubblegum. “Like the Grey Ghost. I’m Nightwing, protector of the weak and man wonder.  Don’t I look the part?” He struck a pose, even flexed an arm, and Bruce had to fight down a giggle at how absurd he was.  

 

Bruce tilted his head and glanced the man over carefully. “You look more like you’re from the ‘sir-kiss’,” declared the child.  

 

Instead of being offended like Bruce thought he’d be, the older man laughed uproariously.  “That I am.”

 

What he meant, Bruce wasn’t sure, but the man seemed to take the exchange as their being friends now.  He grinned at Bruce then turned to tend to the kidnappers still groaning on the floor.  

 

Being a superhero wasn’t a real reason for why the man knew Bruce well enough to know Alfred’s importance to him.  Regardless, something about his rescuer was reassuring.  It made Bruce want to trust him.  Besides, he didn’t know where he was and had no one safe nearby. Nightwing had at least defeated the kidnappers and untied him. If Bruce waited in the warehouse, who knew when someone would find him?  What if Garlic Breath woke up and broke free?  Wandering outside was highly dangerous too.  Maybe there were kidnappers lying in wait.  What if they were in the countryside and Bruce got lost in the wilderness? Following Nightwing was probably his safest option for now.  

 

As Bruce was thinking, the superhero had been tying up the men with cable ties he’d found somewhere.  Once they were all secure, Nightwing rifled through their pockets. He pulled out an assortment of items, but the wallet of Mr. Cigarette made him frown when he looked at it. Bruce heard him mutter a 'not good' under his breath.

  
  
"What is it?" Bruce asked.

  
  
Nightwing turned the wallet around. Inside sat a shiny metal badge and a clean photograph of Mr. Cigarette on an ID. It was a familiar sight because Bruce had seen it several times both on TV and at some galas. A police badge. More specifically...

  
  
"This man is Gotham police," said Nightwing grimly. This seemed like a big revelation for the older man, but Bruce didn’t get why. So the bad man had been police? That wasn’t uncommon in Gotham.

 

Oddly enough, Nightwing then knelt by Card Shark and started stripping him - pulling off the man's leather jacket, cap, and over shirt. He tried to pull on the over shirt, realized it was too small, then ripped it off and stripped a thin hoodie off one of the other men.

 

Bruce desperately hoped Nightwing wasn’t one of the ‘purr-vurts’ his mommy had warned him of.  He’d just decided to trust the man too!  Giving him the benefit of the doubt (for now), Bruce looked questioningly at Nightwing and asked, "Why are you stealing their clothes?"

  
The vigilante smiled at him. "I can't exactly walk around outside in my suit."

  
  
"Why not? I thought you were a superhero."

  
  
"It's daytime, Bruce.” Nightwing had on the thin hoodie and a sports jacket now. A dusty baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses from Bacon Beard completed his look. “I need to get you back to the city, and I'll look very suspicious without a disguise."

“Couldn’t you leave me with a policeman?" Bruce fumbled with the sentence, ‘policeman’ sounding more like ‘pleaseman’.

  
"Remember the badge, Bruce?" The older man asked him.

  
He nodded.

  
  
"If that man was working at the police station, he may have friends working there too. And if he does..."

  
  
Bruce gasped, making the connection. "Then those bad police might kidnap me again!"

  
  
"Exactly," Nightwing beamed at him. He sounded sincerely proud and it made Bruce's chest puff with pleasure. “I can only trust myself to get you home safe right now.”

  
He pulled a beanie one of the men wore onto Bruce's head and then herded the boy into another’s coat. It was tan and very smelly, kind of smoky too; it wasn’t heavy, but it was so large on him that it easily fell past his knees. Bruce wrinkled his nose at it. "Why do I have to disguise too?"

  
  
"If these people want to kidnap you and they or their friends come looking once we leave, they'll have a harder time spotting you." Nightwing did a quick visual check before making for the door, but Bruce suddenly remembered something.

 

“We have to bring this!”  Bruce couldn’t quite reach it (he was about the same height as the crate-table), but he pointed wildly at the black cellphone.  

 

Nightwing stalked over.  “Oh, wow, this is...old.”  

 

“Nuh-uh!  Look at the buttons!”  Bruce had noticed them when he was tied to the chair.  “They’re shiny which means it's still new.”  

 

“Why do we need this?”

 

Bruce didn’t want to admit that he found the device fascinating and wanted to examine it when he got home.  So he simply said, “It might be useful later.”  

 

Nightwing stared at him, eyebrow raised, but didn’t say anything.  When he picked up the phone and slipped it into one of the pockets of his sports jacket, Bruce’s estimation of him went up several notches.  The man then jerked his head toward the warehouse doors.  “C’mon, Bruce.  Let’s get outta here.”

* * *

 It turned out they _had_ been far out of the city, somewhere in the middle of the countryside. Bruce stared out at the rapidly darkening sky as Nightwing searched around the warehouse.  The landscape stretched out farther than Bruce could see in every direction.  He wouldn’t have made it to civilization before the kidnappers found him.  Or maybe he’d have gotten terribly lost and died in the wilderness.  

 

Nightwing found a rusted old truck parked behind the building.  It started after a few tries (and a few well-placed kicks), and they were soon off.  The truck rumbled down the road, passing no one else, with Nightwing at the helm driving clunkily.  He had a lot of trouble with the stick shift, but he handled everything else smoothly.  Bruce tried to stay awake (he’d decided to trust Nightwing for now, but he wasn’t stupid), yet he still found himself blinking awake however much later when the lurching of the vehicle stopped.  

 

“Sleep well?”  Nightwing asked.  He was smiling, but Bruce noticed a furrow in his brow that spoke of irritation.  

 

Bruce looked out the window.  By now, the sun had just about set and the sky was a dark blue, burnt orange at its edges.  He couldn’t see many buildings. There were a lot of rail tracks and a bunch of parked trains.  To his left, he could see a great body of water and houses on the other side of it.   

 

“Truck broke down,” Nightwing said in answer when Bruce looked at him in silent question. “At least we made it to Blüdhaven, even if it’s only the outskirts. Are you up for walking?”

 

Bruce shrugged.  Nightwing had been leading their adventure thus far.  Even if he said he didn’t want to walk, what else could they do?  Sit around?  The kidnappers might be in pursuit right that very minute!  

 

The older man helped Bruce down out of the truck.  Then they began trekking, loosely following the train tracks out into the city.  As they walked, the landscape shifted from sparse to suburban.  More buildings and houses began cropping up.   At first they walked in silence, but Nightwing pointed out a duck on the water which led to a discussion of favourite wildlife which then led to a discussion of preferences in general.  Bruce learned that Nightwing’s favourite animals were those which could fly, that the man liked reading but preferred to be moving, and that his favourite colour was red, not blue like his costume had suggested.  

 

“How old are you anyway?” Nightwing eventually asked after they’d exhausted several other topics.   

 

“You know my best friend but you don’t know my age?” Bruce questioned. It was rather suspicious, but the masked vigilante hadn’t done anything especially insidious yet. Quite the opposite.  Plus, Bruce couldn’t help trusting the man just a smidge from the gentle way he’d handled Bruce thus far. Bad men wouldn’t have been so careful with him. Even his kidnappers had been rough, and they _needed_ him alive and well (enough) for ransom!

 

Nightwing grinned back sheepishly. “I only know so much. That’s why I investigate the rest.”

 

“Like a detective?”

 

The man nodded. “Mhm.”

 

Bruce stared up at him, thinking, before deigning to answer. “I’m five.” He held up his hand for emphasis, splaying out all the digits like he was waving.

 

Nightwing caught his hand and kept holding it. “Wow, five already.”

 

“Uh huh.” Bruce puffed up.

 

The taller man swung their hands a few times, then asked, “Do you mind?”  

 

“Huh?”  

 

“This,” Nightwing said while swinging their joined hands up for emphasis.  “Holding hands. So we don’t get separated from each other.”  

 

Bruce stared at their clasped hands.  Nightwing’s palms, pleasantly warm, practically enveloped his entire hand.  It reminded him of when Mommy or Daddy or even Alfie held his hand.  “No, I don’t mind.”  

 

Nightwing beamed down at him, and Bruce looked away shyly.  He’d gone along with the man out of necessity, but the more they interacted, the more Bruce liked him.  There was something about the superhero that invited fondness - something warm that exuded from him and drew attention.  

 

They walked, the streets becoming more crowded and dirty as they went. There were more street lights and people, but they served the paradoxical function of making Bruce more nervous. The lights felt like spotlights, beating down on Nightwing and him. He felt as if anyone and everyone looking out at the street was watching them pass. When a rowdy group of clearly drunk men brushed by, he found himself walking closer to Nightwing, squeezing the man’s hand without noticing. The superhero squeezed back. Bruce didn’t move away even after they’d past the group and entered more crowded streets.

 

They were stopped on a corner, waiting for the light to change so they could cross, when Bruce heard the rumbling of someone’s stomach.  It was precisely because he was so close that he noticed. The boy stared up at Nightwing in surprise.  It was such a normal sound coming from someone who’d been anything but normal thus far.  Bruce asked, "Are you hungry?"

  
Nightwing blushed; Bruce could see his skin redden beneath the sunglasses and mask.

  
  
The boy quickly checked his pockets (his school pants, not the borrowed jacket), pulling a crumpled $5 bill from the left. (2) Good man, Alfred. He always made sure Bruce had a bit of emergency money. Bruce quickly offered up the crumpled bill in his hand to the hero. "Here. You should get something to eat."

  
  
The superhero stared at the money like it was something he’d never seen before.  Then he grinned.  "I have a better idea."

  
  
Instead of turning into the 24/7 diner behind them, Nightwing picked Bruce up and carried him two blocks down to the midnight ice cream stand (Blüdhaven was weird) where they bought a small vanilla cone for Bruce and a mint-lemon lolly for Nightwing. Then they huddled a few feet from the stand eating their snacks, Bruce giggling when Nightwing tried to steal a lick of his cone only to end up with ice cream on his nose. Though Bruce ate higher quality desserts on daytrips with his parents, that cone had to have been the best one he’d ever eaten.

 

* * *

With the change leftover from their snack (3) (Nightwing seemed surprised at the amount he’d received back), they procured a bus ticket to Gotham. The man first snuck them into the subway and they rode the train up somewhere into what Nightwing had pointed out as Blüdhaven’s central business district.  From there, they made it to the bus terminal and managed to catch a very late bus to Gotham.  As a child, Bruce was allowed to ride free and the whole ride over he noticed how the women and even some men kept glancing at his super companion. He hoped it wasn’t because of their funny disguises, but Nightwing showed no sign of noticing so Bruce pretended not to notice either. As it was a very long bus ride, he took the chance to cuddle into Nightwing’s side, feeling safer with the man’s arm curled around him. Nightwing was warm and solid, very snuggable. He also smelled nice: a spicy cinnamon type of scent that found its way to Bruce even under all the smelly borrowed clothing and sweat from exertion.

 

Bruce was dozing lightly when Nightwing nudged him on the shoulder. The bus had pulled up into the main terminal, situated deep in downtown Gotham.  It was time to get off.

 

Outside, the night sky was pitch black, what Bruce could see of it anyway.  The city lights substituted as sort-of stars because the smog covered up all the natural ones.  He turned round and round, all sleepiness evaporated, excited to see Gotham’s nightlife.  It was so fascinating!  This was his first time seeing the city like this: lit yellow with shadows so deep that he felt like he’d drown if he stepped in them.  He only ventured into the city during the day, and he was typically asleep by this time of night, tucked safe into his bed at home.  

 

The thought of home reminded about his parents. His parents who must be so worried. Alfie must be tearing his hair out in frustration.

 

“I don’t suppose you have another fiver somewhere?” Nightwing asked. Bruce shook his head. Alfie never gave him more than $5 because it was usually more than enough for any emergency Bruce would find himself in.  His companion smiled wryly.  “No money, no ride...you ready to walk some more, chum?”

 

Bruce giggled. ‘Chum’ was such a funny word (not that he ever had a chance to use it). “Okay.” He replied.  

 

“We’d better get started then.”

 

Nightwing pointed out Wayne Tower to him and explained that they were somewhere in Old Gotham. If they travelled east toward City Hall, they could  maybe sneak into Gotham’s subway and catch a ride up to Sheldon Park. When Bruce asked why they couldn’t just steal another car, Nightwing muttered something about not wanting to draw attention. It was a proper reason, but Bruce felt like there was something more to it.

 

The plan didn’t quite work out though.

 

A block or two past the Clock Tower, Nightwing suddenly tensed. The streets were mysteriously empty, despite how crowded they’d been a few blocks back.  It was only Nightwing and Bruce and...

 

“ _Crap_ ,” Nightwing spat.

 

Five creatures slunk out of the shadows, almost like they’d appeared out of thin air.  Whatever they were, they weren’t anything Bruce had ever seen before.  In the yellow light of Gotham’s street lamps, their dark shapes glistened - black at the edges and a deep purple where their ‘torsos’ were.  Strange white bubbles shifted inside them, sometimes rising up and popping open on their skin with a hiss of gas.  These were monsters with no face or features.  They looked like giant man-shaped blobs of jello, all approximate heads and limbs attached to a shapeless body.  The group of them converged, forcing Nightwing and Bruce to back up into the alley behind. The older man shifted so that Bruce was behind him. A gloved hand pressed gently at the boy, urging him to go back further.

 

Nightwing said cautiously, “Bruce...is there somewhere you can hide?”

 

The child gulped and quickly darted a glance into the alley. It made his hairs raise to turn his eye from the monsters, but Nightwing was guarding him and he trusted the man.

 

“There’s a dumpster,” Bruce replied shakily.  

 

“Okay.”  The superhero tensed, one arm reaching up for the stick holstered on his back.  The other was still stretched out in front of Bruce.  “I need you to run for it okay?  Hide and keep quiet.”  

 

The boy nodded, realized Nightwing wouldn’t see it, and then squeaked out a ‘got it’.  

 

That’s when one of the creatures screeched like a wild animal.  It’s piercing cry made Bruce tense reflexively, frozen with terror at the inhuman sound, and it set off the others until there was a chorus of terrifying screeching.  

 

“ _Run!_ ” Nightwing yelled at him.  The man widened his stance, making himself a bigger target, and Bruce sprinted for the rusted green dumpster he’d spotted at the back of the alley earlier.  It was tucked into a corner, but it didn’t lay flush against both walls.  Bruce quickly fit himself into the little space between the container and the brick wall facing the street, then peeked back out to see what was happening.  

 

The five blobs had surrounded Nightwing, who now had his stick in hand, twirling it as he tried to keep track of all the creatures.  With a squelch, the arms of all five morphed into blades.  Bruce couldn’t help letting out a small scream when he saw the knife-arms. They were deadly, curved, about two feet in length, and they'd completely replaced the monsters' arms from 'elbow' to 'hand'. Their edges gleamed ominously in the light from the street.  

 

“I take it you’re not here to chat,” Nightwing quipped.  He received no response.  

 

On some unspoken signal, all five launched themselves at Nightwing, who immediately rolled out of the way and sprang up behind one of the monsters.  The fight was on.  

 

The six figures clashed in the alleyway like a scene from one of Daddy’s ninja films. Nightwing quickly lost his cap and an unfortunate kick from one of the monsters (which Bruce had gasped at) caused the hero’s borrowed sunglasses to fly clear off his face.  Blows were traded back and forth, neither side gaining an edge, which indicated how skilled Nightwing was, but also did not bode well for Bruce and Nightwing.  After sweeping a blob monster off its feet, Nightwing threw it into a pile of trash cans then spun around just in time to catch the knife-arm of another who screeched loudly in response. The sound was different from before, horrific, so loud that it made Bruce’s ears ring, and pitched like nails on a chalkboard. It was meant to intimidate. Nightwing (like the badass he was) showed no sign of being affected by the screech and simply brought his leg up, kneeing the creature backwards.

 

Whenever Nightwing landed a hit on the monster blobs, they didn’t thud the same way human flesh did.  The sound was wetter, more organic, and it was super creepy when matched with the way they rippled with every hit.  Like they were more liquid than solid.  What _were_ they?  Bruce had never seen anything like them, and he didn’t think he wanted to ever again.    

 

A third blob threw itself at Nightwing’s back, knife-arms curving around the man in a facsimile of a hug. It would have sliced clean through his neck if he hadn’t brought his stick up in time. Bruce could see Nightwing’s arms straining to keep the blades from reaching him.  The creature clung to him, struggling to slice even as Nightwing’s kept the weapons at bay. It was the world’s deadliest piggyback ride. The man backed up quickly, smacking the creature on his back into the wall.  He did this a few times and when it faltered, he bucked forward, throwing the mass into two other blobs which had been running toward him.  The last blob was approaching from his right.  

 

Nightwing snarled and rammed his stick into the monster, ducking out of the trajectory of its swipe in the same moment.  It crashed into the pavement with a smash, but Bruce could see it rising up even as the man turned to attack the rest.  The one he’d thrown into the trash was also back up and the two stepped forward together.  

 

Bruce was so scared.  He didn’t want to watch, but he didn’t want to look away either.  He had to see Nightwing, to know what was happening.  Nightwing was at risk! He trembled in the space behind the dumpster, feeling smaller than ever as the shadows of Gotham stretched over the alley cutting it off from the street.  

 

Even with his amazing skills, Nightwing was soon being overwhelmed.  He took down the five blobs over and over, but they continued to get up.  Bruce noted that the ones hit more - hit harder - took longer to recover, but they did all the same.  Two of them swiped at Nightwing from the back and when he flipped to get away, a third slammed into him with its body.  They were slowly cornering him, pushing the superhero back towards the wall.  When Nightwing managed to get three of them down at once, the other two tackled him down.  He gave a vicious kick, knocking them away, but Bruce knew he was winded from the attack by the harsh way he was panting.  A blob was already back on its feet, knife-arms raised and ready to strike.  

 

 _No_ .  It was going to spear Nightwing while the man was still down from the last hit.   _No, no, no!_

 

Bruce didn’t know what to do.  He had to do _something_ \- anything! - but what?  

 

Then he noticed it: the black lump of plastic that was the cellphone he’d asked to bring along.  It was right in front of him, having fallen out of Nightwing’s pocket some time ago, probably when he was flipped, and Bruce scrambled out from behind the dumpster to grab it.  How it had ended up all the way back here by Bruce, he didn't know, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.  In hindsight, Bruce couldn’t actually remember exactly doing so, but he’d grabbed the brick of a device and hurled it with all his might.  The cellphone flew straight, smacking into the blobby thing’s head - the one poised to kill Nightwing.  There was little force behind the throw to be honest, but it was enough to draw the creature’s attention.  

 

**_SKREEEE!!_ **

 

Bruce flinched at the almighty screech the creature made, and then he was screaming, scrambling back to avoid being run through as it bound toward him and stabbed down. Its knife-arm actually sliced _into_ the concrete, skewering the area Bruce had just been by an inch or two. The boy stuffed himself back behind the dumpster as far as he could, right up into the corner where two walls met, because the other three blob things still standing had turned to follow and now there were four crowding the dumpster after him.

 

“ _Bruce!_ ” Nightwing bellowed. Bruce hoped he was okay. He couldn’t see him past the hulking shapes of the blob monsters.

 

One of them smashed into the dumpster, denting it like tinfoil, and by pure luck the container wedged against the corner walls in such a way that Bruce wasn’t instantly crushed to death.  Instead, he was locked into the smallest space he’d ever encountered - smaller even than the time he fell into a crawl way hidden in the pantry of the manor.  

 

The boy curled up, made himself as small as he could with his arms over his head and ears.  All the while, the creatures banged incessantly at the dumpster, unrelenting in their force and rhythm.   Bruce could hear the metal groaning and creaking - every hit decreasing the space as the dumpster slowly collapsed further.  It was deafening in there and he let out a sob, hands shaking violently as he hid his face in his shoulder.  ‘ _Please stop!  Stop!’_  He screamed in his mind.  ‘ _Nightwing!_ ’

 

He heard a furious roar and the smack of flesh being hit.  It was the strange wet sound - blobs being hit - so he knew Nightwing had recovered from his stumble to join the fray again.  

 

The dumpster was curled almost perfectly around Bruce at this point, the warped metal brushing up against Bruce’s arm.  He felt cold all along that side, even though he had on several layers and couldn’t actually feel any temperature from the surface.  It was dark, so dark.  Darker than the warehouse had been.  He couldn’t see anything.  All he could rely on to know what was happening now were his ears.  Nightwing grunting in exertion.  The ugly screeching of the monster blobs.  Wooshes as they traded blows: wet thuds when the monsters were hit, and solid thuds if Nightwing was.  The sound ebbed slightly as the fight moved away from the dumpster.  Increased sometimes when they swayed closer.  At one point, he heard Nightwing give an ugly roar and then a flurry of wet thuds as the hero unleashed his aggression.  The hero sounded furious.  

 

Slowly the noises died down, the screeching lessening until the only sound Bruce could hear in the alley was the thudding of his heart and the heavy pants of his companion. (4)

 

 _Tap, tap, tap_.  

 

Nightwing walking over to the crumpled dumpster.  He called out for Bruce and the boy managed to force a squeak out his mouth.  “Bruce! Don’t move okay?  I’m going to get you out.”  

 

He could hear Nightwing heave and then the dumpster was moving with a groan.  It had actually crumpled partway into the brickwork above and red brick dust peppered Bruce when the metal popped out.  Nightwing pulled until there was enough space for Bruce to crawl out.  The sight of his handsome face red from exertion, domino mask twisted with worry, was such a relief.  

 

“Bruce, oh thank god.” Nightwing quickly gathered him into his arms and the boy clung tight.  Warm hands smoothed over his head and back.  He could feel kisses being pressed into his hair.  His second rescue in less than twenty-four hours; saved again by his hero.  

 

“Okay, Bruce?”

 

He couldn’t stop trembling. His hands shook where they clenched tight into the tattered fabric of Nightwing’s borrowed clothing. They rocked back and forth for a time, Bruce clinging and trying very hard not to burst into tears.  He wanted Mommy and Daddy; he wanted Alfred.  He had Nightwing and only the man's embrace and his cinnamon smell kept Bruce from all-out panicking.  Eventually, Bruce calmed enough to manage peeking over the man’s shoulder at the weird purple blob-people. “Are- are they dead?”

 

Their bodies lay still and eerie in the alleyway, like a scene from a sci-fi.  The way they kept crawling back up earlier, even after Nightwing had thrown them down, flashed in his mind.  Again and again.  Bodies twisting back into shape with horrible jerks.  He didn’t want to take his eyes off them.  Couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t come back up.  

 

“No,” Nightwing said. Then they both jolted when - right before their eyes - the blobs slowly disappeared, dissolving into the air and leaving behind no trace of existence apart from the damage they’d wrought.  “Creepy...They were never really ‘alive’ to begin with.”

 

Bruce shivered, terrified and unsettled by the creatures yet still fascinated all the same. “What were they?”

 

“I don’t know. Those things were fighting me before I got sent- before I found you in the warehouse.  This time they were a lot more vicious...but let’s leave first. They might come back.” Nightwing quickly retrieved his stick (he’d likely thrown it down when moving the dumpster) and tucked the weapon back beneath his coat and hoodie. The cracked cellphone was also picked up and put back in the man’s sport jacket.  At this point, Nightwing’s borrowed clothes were so torn that Bruce thought the superhero was better off leaving them behind.

 

Bruce sniffled and then he said, “Told you it would come in handy.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“The phone.”  Bruce reminded.  

 

Nightwing stared back, then he laughed, rich and warm. The sound made Bruce smile too, his body tingling down to his toes.

 

“Yeah,” Nightwing chuckled.  “You’re always one step ahead, Bruce.”  

 

They should really get out of the alley now.  Bruce didn’t want to let go of Nightwing, still shaken from the encounter, but it seemed he didn’t want to let go of Bruce either.  The superhero lifted Bruce with a grunt and quickly stalked off after a cursory check that the alley was clear.  They slid into the shadows seamlessly, Nightwing moving so swift and silently that Bruce felt like they’d become shadows themselves.  Clutched in his arms, Bruce noticed an odd hitch in Nightwing’s movements.  Anytime the hero had moved he’d been grace in motion, but now he moved stiffly. He hadn’t seen the last half of the fight, trapped as he’d been behind the dumpster, and a sickening worry settled in his thoughts.  “Are you hurt?” He asked.  

 

Nightwing chuckled softly.  “No, it’s just a bit painful.”  A gloved hand came up and gently smoothed back Bruce’s hair.  “Don’t worry about it.”  

 

Bruce frowned. If Nightwing was injured then he shouldn’t be carrying Bruce!

 

“Put me down.” The boy said while pushing away gently from Nightwing. “We need to wrap up the hurts!”

 

The hero’s response was to tighten his grip and move faster. “It’s fine, B. We need to get away before more of those things come for us.”

 

There may be _more_ scary blob monsters out in the city?  Bruce stilled at the suggestion, petrified at the idea with the latest encounter still fresh.  On the other hand, Nightwing still needed medical attention...

 

“You can come back to the house!” Bruce exclaimed. The idea was so perfect, it was charming.  He didn’t know why it’d taken him so long to think of it.  The more he imagined it, the better it sounded.  “My daddy’s a doctor so he’ll know how to make it better and you can live in one of the rooms - we gots lots of rooms - and you can pick the room right beside mine - I always wanted to have a sleepover -”

 

“Bruce,” Nightwing cut him off.  “Bruce. I can’t.”

 

“Huh? Why not?”  Bruce’s babble stopped immediately.  Icy disappointment sank into his stomach and dimmed his previous excitement.

 

Nightwing heaved a sigh.  It sounded like the ones his parents made just before they told him they’d be home late or that they had to cancel a trip to the zoo or the park.  Resignation and regret.  He ran a gauntlet through his hair, disheveling the long black locks even more than they already were.  He pursed his lips, like he wasn’t sure about something.  When he spoke, he was hesitant.  “I didn’t tell you everything about me...I’m not just a superhero.

 

“I’m also from the future.”  Even with the white lenses, Bruce could feel the intensity of Nightwing’s stare as he concentrated on Bruce’s face.  What did Nightwing just say?   _The future?_  Ludicrous.  The superhero was deadly serious though, and that alone made Bruce inclined to believe him.

 

“Whoa…”

 

“Whoa indeed,” repeated Nightwing.  “That’s how I knew your name and about Alfred.  Where I come from, we’ve known each other for years. We’re partners.”

 

Partners. Bruce boggled just thinking about it. If Nightwing had told him this right after saving him in the warehouse, Bruce probably would have kicked him before running off to hide like Mommy taught him to.  After spending a whole day with the man and seeing him beat down seven adult men and five otherworldly creatures, time travelling didn’t seem quite as impossible anymore.  

 

Nightwing chuckled at his awed expression.  “Yeah, Bruce.  Older you is one of the best men I know.”  

 

And _that_ was the weirdest part of this confession.  Hearing himself called a ‘man’.  Men were tall and big like Nightwing and Daddy.  Bruce had a hard time imagining himself ever being a ‘man’; he was just a boy.  

 

“That’s why I can’t stay,” Nightwing continued softly. “I have to go back to the future.”

  
Bruce pouted at him, clearly unhappy, but Nightwing was serious so he eventually nodded in acquiescence.

 

The superhero moved swiftly even injured and with a five year old in his arms.  Cutting across alleyways and avoiding sidewalks altogether, Nightwing weaved them in and out of the shadows for several blocks until they came across an empty street.  Several cars were parked along the sidewalk and the man made for a sporty looking red one.  

 

Bruce was set back on his feet, as Nightwing went to work on the car.  He could hear the man muttering something as he fiddled until the doors popped open.  He pulled open the driver’s side door, slipped into the space at the feet of the driver’s seat, and then started fiddling under the steering wheel.  Bruce gaped as he popped off the plastic there and pulled at the internal wires, cursing every now and then.  

 

The child leaned over and stared unabashedly, curious as to what Nightwing was doing.  Mommy hadn’t gotten around to showing him how to steal cars yet.  She said he was too young and to wait until he could brush his teeth without a foot stool.  He wanted to ask questions, but Nightwing was intent and seemed unlikely to answer well with how concentrated he was.  A scant few minutes later, Nightwing was crawling out from under his handiwork.  

 

“Forget being discreet,” he said.  He picked Bruce up easily and sat him in the back seat, pulling the straps over him efficiently in several smooth strokes.  “We’re getting you home a.s.a.p.” He patted Bruce on the head, hand lingering for a moment.  Then he made his way to the driver’s seat and they were off, back on the road once again. (5)  

 

* * *

Dawn was creeping out by the time they pulled up to Wayne Manor. Nightwing parked the car behind some trees before looking searchingly at the fence, trying to figure out a way to get them both over, until Bruce tugged on the tattered sleeve of his borrowed coat and led him over to a small hole between the hedges.

 

They were on the fringes of the property, the house sitting tall and beautiful in the distance. The sight of it made Bruce want to cry with relief. He was exhausted, dirty, and tempted to flop down on the grass (his legs felt like jello), but Nightwing was still going despite his injury, striding big strong steps across the lawn. He couldn't complain if his partner wasn’t. Despite his efforts to stay silent, the older man was sharp and noticed Bruce flagging anyway. He scooped the boy up easily and continued walking even as the child protested weakly.

 

“You’re hurt…” He said, pushing weakly at the hero’s shoulders.  

 

“Almost home. Don’t worry about me.” Nightwing murmured into Bruce’s hair. They were both tired, voices practically whispering. Bruce tried once more to be set down but eventually settled for wrapping his arms tighter around Nightwing’s neck and laying his head on a muscled shoulder.

 

Partners…his partner. Bruce’s partner. The thought made Bruce’s chest swell, contentedness warming him from the inside out. He felt safe here. Happy.

 

The sudden urge to kiss Nightwing’s cheek overtook him. Why he wanted to was a mystery (Bruce didn’t think himself particularly affectionate), but Nightwing wouldn't mind if they were partners right? Or would it be weird because Nightwing was in the past and Bruce was just a child to him right now?

  
  
He was set back on his feet, the moment past and his chance lost. It was probably for the better. Bruce might have made things strange if he'd given Nightwing a kiss.

 

With a fond smile on his face, Nightwing declared, “We’re home.”

 

His partner had walked them all the way to the gardens in the back where tall hedges blocked both of them from immediate view. They stood there, just basking in the fact that they’d _made it_ all the way to Wayne Manor.  

 

“I should get going…” Nightwing hedged after some time, voice revealing his reluctance to leave.  He pulled out the cracked cellphone and handed it to Bruce with a reminder to give it to his parents right away.  

 

“Are you sure?” Bruce pouted up at him. “You could stay...my parents wouldn’t mind.”

 

His partner reached out and ruffled Bruce’s hair.  “I don’t want to interfere with this time anymore than I already have, B.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because it might change the future.” Nightwing answered.  

 

“Would it be so bad?” Bruce questioned.  

 

Nightwing looked down at him, expression stiff.  “That’s the thing, B.  I don’t know how it would change. I wouldn’t want to somehow not meet you, for example.”

 

Bruce paled at that.  He’d already become attached to the man in their time together, and to imagine not ever seeing Nightwing again was too terrible.  It left him feeling more alone than he’d ever felt in his life.  

 

Sensing the shift in his mood, Nightwing quickly tried to placate him.  “We’ll meet before you know it.”

 

Bruce clung to him, unwilling to let go yet.  “Promise?”  He asked.  

 

“Absolutely.” The older man patted him on the head, then his hand trailed down and cupped Bruce’s cheek. “Time to let go, Bruce.” Nightwing whispered.  “I’ll see you soon.”

  
With nary a glance back, the superhero ran off, clearing the lawn in moments and easily scaling Wayne Manor’s fence to drop onto the other side.  He disappeared into the distance, probably re-commandeering the stolen car. Bruce watched him go, eyes trailing Nightwing’s dark shape until his partner was out of his sight. He heard the faint roar of the car starting and then it faded.  Nightwing hadn’t said how long until they met again. Bruce hoped it was soon, though something about the man’s tone of voice had suggested it wouldn’t be. A creeping sense of bereavement settled in him, and when Alfred found him a few minutes later, he was still staring in the direction Nightwing had run off to. After a cursory check and a frantic hug from the butler, he was quickly whisked off to a tearful reunion with his parents and the rest of the household staff.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I hope that’s not too creepy, but Dick knows Bruce and coupled with his soft spot for children he’d be hard pressed not to be more familiar.
> 
> 2) Bruce already checked the borrowed jacket and it had nothing but a stick of gum, some mysterious foil packets, and a baseball card.
> 
> 3) According to the internet, $5USD in the 1970’s is equivalent to $20+USD today - which I believe to be more than sufficient enough for ice cream and a bus ticket.
> 
> 4) Why did I include a fight scene? I’m crap at fight scenes.
> 
> 5) You do not realize how badly I wanted it to be a motorcycle, but the logistics of it didn’t work out in the story. The situation wasn’t dire enough for Dick to risk Bruce riding without a proper helmet at his age. A car, at least, has seat belts.
> 
>  
> 
> I ended up looking into the actual layouts of Blüdhaven and Gotham. Hoo boy. Please forgive any glaring geographical errors and logistical issues which arise because of those errors. Also, the cartography and reality of life in these cities is beyond fascinating. I lost hours just cross-referencing maps and searching up layouts of things. 
> 
> This is also THE longest chapter I have ever written and posted. Ever. Yeah, there's no mention of the "husband" misunderstanding, but I assure you it WILL be there next chapter (if the title hasn't given it away yet).


	2. Early Engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a husband like Nightwing, he couldn’t wait to be married!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the amazing feedback on chapter one! It's given me such joy and energy to pump out more chapters, and it really helped as I powered through this massive chapter. ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ 
> 
> I'm not going to make you read my author notes, but I hope you do! I ask a question at the end relating to the plot. I drew inspiration for Bruce’s parents off [Unpretty’s spectacularly kickass and humorous rendition.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3376361/chapters/7385021) If you haven’t already [read Unpretty’s fics,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unpretty/pseuds/Unpretty) please do so, because her grasp of humour is amazing, her ability to create poignancy blindsiding, and her prose a strong solid read. 
> 
> Fair note of warning: chp 1 was mostly fluffy exposition. Chp 2 is mostly plot-establishing exposition. Nightwing doesn’t actually show up! Instead, you’re getting the Waynes and Alfred. This time there are a lot of footnotes, but I was collecting so many that I began embedding them into the text at some point, especially near the end. They're not important to the plot, but they're things I found interesting while I did all my (light) research. 
> 
> At least half the chapter is super rough writing that I forced myself to finish, but I figure you've all waited long enough (I'VE waited long enough!). I'll just be appropriately mortified later when I read over it and find 92384098 mistakes and a massive plot hole. ಥ_ಥ (Srsly gonna die of embarrassment. I found an unfinished sentence omg!)

Several days after Nightwing saved him, and Bruce, to his astonishment, was absolutely, truly missing the superhero. Even at the age of five, Bruce was an incredibly precocious child.  Sure he missed his parents when they were busy at events and charities, sometimes Alfie when he was at school, but Bruce had never experienced the sort of deep, echoing longing that had plagued him the last few days.  

 

Unsettled by the foreign emotion, he’d thought long and hard about why he missed the man so much.  Nightwing had certainly left a strong impression upon him, but enough to feel this attached?  He couldn’t possibly become this attached after one meeting right?  Bruce ruminated on it for a long time, but his thoughts kept circling back to one thing: Nightwing called them “partners”.

 

 _Partners_.

 

Like his mommy and daddy.

 

Perhaps he’d jumped to conclusions when he first heard the word and maybe he was believing things where they simply weren’t true, but Bruce couldn’t help himself.  His whole life, he’d grown up watching his parents work seamlessly together to do the things they did, to help people. Mommy was always calling Daddy her “partner” and when she said the word to his father, it simply felt right. They were a team.  He and Nightwing had worked well together during their escape; Nightwing had called them partners.  He’d heard the word used many times in many ways, but Nightwing had said it with such _weight,_ and that made Bruce want to believe.  

 

As a child of the upper crust, he naturally had many possessions, but few of them meant anything of significance to him.  What he treasured most were relationships, and something - he couldn’t define what exactly - felt especially important about his relationship with Nightwing.  Maybe it was that Nightwing was his partner.   _His_ in that unique way Mommy was to Daddy and vice versa.  

 

Did that make Nightwing and Bruce husband and wife then?

 

He supposed so.  They were partners like Mommy and Daddy.  The specifics puzzles him though.  Every married couple he could think of was comprised of a husband and wife.  Who would be who then?  Husbands, he’d noticed, were usually larger.  Daddy was really big - bigger than Mommy - so Bruce had to be the wife because Nightwing was so tall. Bruce recalled having to lean his head all the way back to see Nightwing’s face. It seemed strange that a boy would be the wife, but maybe it was a title, much like when Alfred called him ‘Master Bruce’. He’d never heard of a husband and husband nor a wife and wife after all. He’d simply become a ‘Missus Bruce’ when he was married.  That had to be correct...He briefly entertained the idea of Nightwing being the Missus, but that felt even stranger.

 

Missus Bruce. Missus Bruce. Missus Bruce.

 

Something was off though...but what? Bruce wracked his brain, until it suddenly occurred to him: everyone called his mommy ‘Missus Wayne’. Like how his daddy was ‘Mister Wayne’. He didn’t know what Nightwing’s last name was, but did superheroes even have last names? Wouldn’t marriage just make him a ‘Missus Nightwing’ then?

 

Bruce nodded, quite satisfied by his line of thinking.

 

Missus Nightwing.  

 

It sounded a lot better than Missus Bruce, and he couldn’t help the excited smile that stretched across his face.  With a husband like Nightwing, marriage didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

* * *

“Mommy, what does a wife do?” Bruce asked Martha during a lull in conversation.  The two were in Martha’s study, poring over _Grey’s Anatomy._ He couldn't read or understand a lot of the heavy text, but Martha was incredibly patient with him - sounding out words and then pointing them out in the diagrams.  They’d just finished [ a bit on the muscles of the heart ](http://www.bartleby.com/107/138.html) when he sprang the question.

 

He had no idea when he’d be meeting Nightwing again, but it couldn’t hurt to prepare ahead of time. Bruce never did things by halves. If he was going to be a wife, he wanted to be the very best wife.

 

“What do you mean, baby?”

 

“Like, what do wifes do?”

 

“Wives, Bruce.”  Martha instantly corrected him.

 

Bruce scowled at his mistake, but dutifully repeated the question. “What do _wives_ do, Mommy?”

 

She hummed in thought, absently smoothing the pages of their book. “Wives do many things, Brucie. You’ll have to be more specific.”

 

Unsure how to phrase his question, he whined in annoyance.

 

Martha barely held in her laugh at the ugly scowl on his face and tried to help guide him.  “What do you _think_ wives do then?”

 

“I'm not sure,” Bruce reluctantly admitted.  His starting reference had been his own mother, but he was aware that they lived in luxury and weren't exactly representative of a typical family.  “I tried reading this book, but you don’t do most of what it says to do and you’re the best wife because you’re the best Mommy so I think it lied.”

 

She blinked in surprise.  “Brucie, what book?”

 

“Here,” Bruce said, squirming out of her lap before running to his shelf. Martha had several cases in her office and had cleared the bottom two shelves nearest her desk for Bruce's use. He kept everything from crayons and paper to crackers and toys there.

 

He came back to her with a magazine.  Martha picked it up and looked over the cover incredulously.  Housekeeping Monthly, May 1955.  Goodness, where had Bruce even unearthed this from?  There was a frog bookmark somewhere near the center and Bruce quickly flipped to it, displaying a two page spread.  

 

[ ‘The Good Wife’s Guide’ ](https://www.littlethings.com/1950s-good-housewife-guide/). (1)  A stereotypical illustration of an American nuclear family took up space on the left, and the rest of the pages were filled with commandments.  Martha skimmed through the text quickly, more flabbergasted with each line.  

 

_A little more interesting for him...Catering for his comfort...His topics of conversation are more important than yours._

 

_A good wife always knows her place._

 

Absolute, complete drivel.  No wonder Brucie had been so confused.  

 

Martha folded the magazine close, and placed it on her desk.  She was silent for a moment as she gathered her thoughts.  Bruce gulped nervously at the thunderous expression on his mother’s face.   

 

“Brucie, promise me you won’t take anything from that magazine to heart.”  

 

He looked at her warily, nodding.  

 

“It’s complete nonsense.  A wife does no less than what a husband does,” Martha informed him solemnly.  “When you marry someone, you’re committing to them.  You’re making them your number one, but they make you their number one in return.

 

“Okay…But what do wives do then?” Bruce asked, still confused.

 

Martha held her arms open and he crawled back into her lap.  “Baby, it’s not about actions; it’s not about making dinner or looking after children.  It’s about _emotion_.”  

 

“Emotion?” Bruce parroted.  

 

“Yes, emotion.  I love your daddy with all my heart, and what I do as his wife is make sure he’s healthy, happy, and whole.”  A smile stretched her lips, the thought of Thomas enough to decrease her ire.  “And he does the same for me.  Marriage is a partnership, so you shouldn’t go into it half-heartedly.”

 

Bruce took in her serious gaze, the conviction of her voice, and absorbed it.  A partnership.  He had to remember the importance of respect in a marriage.  “Understood,” he replied.

 

Martha observed him, then relaxed once she felt satisfied that he’d taken the lesson to heart.  “Good. Why do you ask?”

 

Bruce shifted almost guiltily at that.  “Uh, no reason.  Just 'qurus’.”

 

“ _Curious_ , Bruce.”

 

“'Qurus’,” repeated Bruce diligently.

 

Martha snorted.  “We’ll work on that one.”

 

* * *

Some days later, Martha peeked into the sitting room and smiled at the sight of her little Brucie deep asleep on the couch.  He’d been out playing all afternoon, roaming the vast expanse of the gardens and yard with Alfred in tow.  The poor man had been reluctant to leave Bruce alone so soon after the kidnapping, and was more often than not dragged along on her boy’s latest fancy.  Alfred must somehow have convinced Bruce back into the Manor because that boy could spend all day exploring if left up to himself.  From the crayons and paper she could spot strewn all over the coffee table, Bruce had retreated in here to do some drawing while Alfred went to look after the manor.

 

Tiptoeing quietly, Martha carefully took a seat on the couch beside her baby while reaching out to pull a nearby throw over him.  Technically, she should be off to make some phone calls right about now, but for her son she always made time.  She tucked the ends in around his shoulders and then stroked his hair, frowning at the soft purple shadows under his eyes.  Her poor baby.  Bruce hadn’t been sleeping well lately after his recent kidnapping, waking every night from night terrors to crawl into his parents’ bed.  It pained her that she couldn’t take away this hurt, pained her that he’d had to experience it in the first place.  

 

She’d never forget the terrified cadence of Alfred’s voice, the typically unflappable man shaken to the core when he realized Bruce was nowhere to be found.  His teachers had reported nothing out of the ordinary: after school ended, Bruce had left the building the same time he did every day.  The driver who was to pick him up had been but five minutes late due to traffic.  No one knew where he was, and no one had seen where he went.  Their boy had simply vanished.  The frantic search had both her and Thomas losing sleep as they called in all their acquaintances to track down their son.  She’d even gone back to some old contacts, people she never thought she’d willingly talk to again, to ask for their help. For Bruce she would have done anything.

 

The whole thing has lasted less than twenty four hours, but the waiting had felt like _years_.

 

Thank God he was alright.  Martha watched her son fondly, so thankful he was back home safe and sound.  

 

Once they'd had their teary reunion at the entrance way and Bruce had been properly looked over, she and Thomas had shared a moment of surprise at Bruce’s foresight in bringing home the cellphone.  Despite the sizeable crack running through it, it was largely intact and the circuitry inside functional.  Which meant it was still useable. Which meant it could be traced. Those men were going to be very sorry. Nobody touched her baby with ill intent and got away with it.

 

Martha sat there stewing in her thoughts for a time before shaking it off.  Eventually she turned to look at the papers on the table.  

 

Bruce loved to draw and he tended to keep an art diary of sorts (2).  He drew many things, but he often logged his days through his pictures too.  It was organized, the logging aspect, and he’d produced one “picture report” a day consistently since he was three, apart from the day he’d recently spent kidnapped.  Was the artwork because he was still learning to write or did he have any actual interest in the pursuit?  Martha was inclined to believe the latter because as logical as Bruce acted, his vivid imagination shone through in his art-reports.  He often had adventures like something out of an action serial, such as the time he searched an abandoned mine for diamond thieves and the other timed he fell upon an ancient pyramid deep in a Central American rainforest.

 

In the days immediately following Bruce’s return, she’d kept an extra sharp eye on Bruce and his habits, so Martha had noticed right away the appearance of a “Nitewing” in Bruce’s art. The black humanoid blob with a bright blue stripe across its chest was Bruce’s new favourite subject, having been drawn doing everything from cooking to skiing to defeating robbers. When he was younger he’d skipped the imaginary friend phase altogether to cling to Alfred, so she found it slightly alarming that he'd choose now - just after a traumatic event - to finally have one.  

 

Martha always updated Thomas about Bruce, and after showing him Nitewing, the two had knocked their heads together over why. Being the pessimist she was, Martha was convinced the black and blue blob was some manifestation of Bruce’s trauma or a coping mechanism for what he’d recently experienced.  Thomas had talked down her panic after maybe an hour.  Afterall, Nitewing had only ever been depicted positively, they weren't seeing any horrific cannibals or rivers of blood yet.

 

Bruce was such a solemn child sometimes; took after her far too much, though you wouldn’t think it to look at him. The boy was unfathomably curious, incredibly charming when he wanted to be, and strikingly intelligent. A shrink-size Thomas with Martha’s mind. Or rather, her personality if she wanted to be fair. Thomas’ mind was rather sharp too - she wouldn’t have settled with him otherwise - but he was naturally good around people in a way she had never been. It stemmed partially from the way she analyzed everything; a good bit from being too clever by half. Her baby had inherited this aspect of herself, and while it would help him to achieve in whatever he chose to pursue, it also made it difficult for him to open up with others. The signs were already there.

 

They didn’t isolate Bruce per say, but he hardly interacted with other children his age, and even less outside of school hours. He was playful, but in an eccentric way, too pragmatic and logical for the whimsical nature of children his age.

 

Today’s art-logs had something new and it left Martha puzzled - torn between smiling with fondness and wondering when things had “developed” so to say. There was Nitewing’s now familiar black-and-blue blob, helpful label present as always in Bruce’s shaky young scrawl. However, another smaller blob was on the paper today. It took Martha several seconds of observation to realize that it was Bruce himself. Black crayon for the hair, two mismatched blue circles for his eyes, and a mesh of colours that vaguely resembled the colours of his school uniform. She hadn’t placed him right away because he typically labeled himself with a messy “ME” and arrow, whereas this new picture showcased a messy “MISUZ NITEWING” and arrow instead.

 

“Oh Brucie,” she sighed. Was this a crush? The Nitewing blob seemed much more significant now.  How unbearably cute.  She glanced down at Bruce and felt a swell of emotion in her breast. Bruce was growing up so fast. It really did feel like yesterday that she was still nursing him in her arms, and now here he was with his first crush. She swore if she blinked, lapsed for even a second in attention, it’d be to see Bruce all grown up, perhaps already married with children of his own.  She let the imaginary scene form in her head.  He’d be as massive as Thomas, of course, and she be mystified by how an underweight, premature little thing like Bruce Thomas Wayne could ever grown up into a hulking man like that.

 

Martha gave the paper another speculative once-over. If Bruce was “Misuz Nitewing” then did that make Nitewing his “mister”?  Was Bruce using someone he knew as a model?

 

She made a note to herself to pay more attention to the people around her son. _Was_ Nitewing an imaginary friend? An alarming possibility was that there had been an extra person involved in the whole debacle.  Perhaps a third party that Bruce had told no one of.  They still didn’t know how Bruce made it free and all the way back to the manor on his own; any explanation he had given was disjointed and vague, likely because of the minor head injury he'd sustained and his young age.  If Nitewing was a real person, she may have to find him, even just to make sure he had done nothing untoward to her baby.

 

Another point of note: her child was clever, but like all learning children, there were some concepts he hadn’t grasped yet. The intricacies of language and homosexuality being one of them. Lord knew she wouldn’t judge her child for liking men, and while she should correct his mistake - men were husbands - it was charming. Innocent in a way Martha had long stopped being. She’d set Bruce straight tomorrow.  If anything, Thomas would get a kick out of that.

* * *

Martha never did get around to sorting it out with Bruce.  A stressful call from Gotham Hope’s resource coordinator and she’d soon become embroiled with straightening out a mix up at the homeless shelter’s various sites (3).

 

The only person Bruce had even thought of talking to about Nightwing was Alfie, and he’d soon decided that he wouldn't. He couldn’t tell Mommy and Daddy because Nightwing had been involved in his kidnapping, even if his husband-to-be had been helping him.  They’d ask him too many questions and then he’d have to tell them Nightwing was from the future.  Everything would be com-pruh-mised and that would be no good.  He could have told Alfred, but it came down to the fact that he felt embarrassed at the thought of having to explain what the man meant to him.  Bruce sometimes felt such a swell of happiness even at the mere thought of Nightwing that he thought he’d combust.  His partner had the inexplicable ability to make him _shy_.

 

So with his usual options out of the way, Bruce was forced to consider other people to confide in.  He soon realized he had no other options.  

 

It was recess and Bruce was playing his usual game of ‘lead Tommy around the school’.  Tommy really liked Bruce for some reason, but _god_ was he creepy.  He almost fit Mommy’s description of the stalker and Bruce was constantly tempted to label him so if not for the fact that he knew the older boy from school and therefore could not technically label him a ‘stranger’.  Oh, Tommy was definitely a ‘stranger’, but in the literal sense.  As in ‘a strange person’. (4)

 

“Beware the Court of Owls that watches all the time,” Tommy sing songed as he followed Bruce around the playground.  It was _so_ creepy, and Bruce tried to tune him out, but it was difficult to accomplish with how enthusiastic his friend was.  “They watch you in your bed.  Speak not a whispered word of them, or they’ll send the Talon for your head!”

 

When it looked like Tommy was gearing up to start again, Bruce turned and put a stop to it sternly.  “You’re scaring me, Tommy.”  He sent the other boy an upset glance to emphasize his point.  

 

“Oh, sorry, Bruce.” Tommy apologized, but he didn’t appear particularly sincere.

 

Yea, no way was he talking to Tommy about what happened with Nightwing.  

 

Bruce had followed along with Tommy since he didn’t have many friends, but now that he’d met Nightwing, his friendship with the other boy felt shallow at best. He’d only known his husband for a day, but their connection had been more genuine and satisfactory than all the time he’d spent skulking around with Tommy. He wished Nightwing was already by his side again.  He wanted his chum back.

 

“Want to dig for worms?”  Bruce suggested, anything else than listen to Tommy sing creepy nursery rhymes at him.  

 

“Oh, yes!”  Tommy grinned and the two made their way to a muddy patch under the oak tree by the swings.  

* * *

It was eerily quiet, the typical hum of a city muffled and practically nonexistent.  When he blinked and glanced around, he realized he was in the alley again, the shadows deeper and darker than ever, Gotham's yellow lights seeming miles away.

 

Nightwing had beat down three of the blob monsters, but he was exhausted. The other two knocked him down easily, and he watched, heart pounding, as they stalked up to the fallen man.

 

 _Get up! Get up!_ He urged in his mind, but Nightwing was only human. The man had been fighting so hard he was winded, and in his heart he knew the superhero wouldn't get up in time.

 

He had to help. He was just a child, but that was his partner lying vulnerable on the ground. Something! _Anything!_

 

That's when he spotted it: the cellphone he'd asked Nightwing to bring at the start of their adventure. It lay on the concrete, just several feet in front of him, and he quickly scrambled out from his hiding place after it. Small hands grasped the plastic and heaved with all his might - !  

 

But nothing happened.

 

The phone was too heavy. It was a piece of plastic and circuitry, but it weighed like a stone. No matter how he tried to move it, it refused to budge from the concrete.

 

Useless.  Dead weight.  

 

 _Move, move, move!! Please!!_ He tugged frantically at the device, willing it to lift - begging, praying, _pleading_ \- but it remained stubbornly stuck. He was too weak. There was nothing he could do. Too slow to run, not strong enough to do anything, he could only watch helplessly as the blob creatures stabbed down, their knife-arms sliding seamlessly into flesh, drawing forth blood - so much blood - and Nightwing's pained scream.

 

He screamed along and watched with wide, horrified eyes as the remaining creatures Nitewing had taken down earlier stood back up, bodies jerking upright in a nightmarish fashion. They gathered round and slashed together; stabbed and sliced until the concrete ran red and utter silence roared in his ears, so loud that he could hear nothing else.

 

His partner was dead.

 

_"NO!"_

 

Bruce jerked awake, heart racing and panting like he'd just run a race.  His gaze darted around, taking stock of his location. No alley, no blob monsters.  He'd fallen asleep on the couch again. It was still sunny outside, so he hadn't slept the day away, but the sunlight was weak and the sky overcast like his mood.

 

Another nightmare. He’d been having a lot of them since his adventure with Nightwing.

 

A shiver ran down his spine, and Bruce suddenly couldn’t bear to be alone.  Feeling unsettled and shaky, he wandered down the main staircase and over into the kitchen, nose and ears guiding him. A tall wiry figure stood by the counter, clacking as pots boiled on the stove.  He could see a turkey roasting in the oven.

 

“Alfie…” Bruce hesitantly called out.  

 

His butler turned at his voice, spotting him right away.  “Master Bruce?  Were you looking for me?”  

 

Bruce shuffled properly into the kitchen and stood awkwardly by the island.

 

“I’m afraid dinner is not quite ready yet,” the butler said amicably. He frowned when Bruce didn't reply and something in Bruce's face must have given him away because Alfred had soon put down the carrot he was peeling.  The butler knelt, scrutinizing him, and hummed. “You’re rather peaky, young Master. Did you have another nightmare?”

 

Reluctantly, Bruce nodded, staring resolutely at his feet because he’d had to admit this to Alfred several times the past few days and it only felt more difficult each time. He should have been getting better, not becoming more scared with every dream.

 

“It was really scary, Alfie,” the boy eventually confessed. He’d aimed for a clinical tone, but his voice betrayed him by cracking in the middle.  

 

Then to Bruce’s utter mortification, his eyes started stinging terribly and tears began to leak out against his will. He desperately tried to stifle himself, but a traitorous sob tore from his lips, and then another, until his body was heaving.  The intense emotions of his dreams surged back into existence, making it hard to breathe.  Nightwing had saved him that night.  Nightwing had almost _died._

 

Alfred’s face crumpled in a way Bruce had never seen before.  It made him feel even worse because now he was making Alfred sad too.  He was such a baby.  The butler knelt down beside him as Bruce attempted to stutter out an apology between gasps.  One large hand grasped his shoulder and before Bruce could think to be startled by the touch, he was pulled into a tentative hug - the first he could remember ever receiving from Alfred.  This was so surprising that Bruce’s sobs immediately stopped as he stood stiffly in the unfamiliar embrace.  

 

Alfie had never hugged him before.  The man tended to keep a professional distance between them at all times, and Bruce could understand even if he felt it a bit cold at times.  

 

“I am sorry, Master Bruce,” Alfred told him softly. Bruce didn't get why he was apologizing; his nightmares were his problem alone.  If Bruce were strong enough, he wouldn’t have to bother Alfred with this at all.  When he told Alfie this, the butler looked at him in a way Bruce couldn't decipher, before sighing and standing back up.

 

“How about a cookie, Master Bruce?”

 

“Mommy said no more cookies until dinner,” Bruce answered promptly even though he loved cookies and Alfred made them the best.

 

The butler sent him a conspiratorial wink. “What the Mistress does not know, will not harm her or us.”

 

Bruce thought about it. Mommy would find out anyway - she knew everything after all - but Alfie _had_ made the offer first and Bruce would feel a lot better if he ate a cookie. “Could I have a cinnamon one?”

 

Alfie smiled at him. “Of course, Master Bruce.”

* * *

The next day, the sky was overcast again and the weather chilly, but Bruce didn’t care because he was heading out to the city!  His class was taking a field trip to Robinson Park for the day, and he’d been looking forward to the trip for weeks.  His parents worried about him attending so soon after he’d been kidnapped, but he convinced them to let him go in the end after arguing his side (5) and recruiting Alfred to his aid.  

 

“Can I wear the smelly jacket?” Bruce asked. The jacket and beanie Nightwing had stuffed him into during their one-day adventure was in the foyer closet, washed and hung amongst the boy’s other clothes.  They were meant to be thrown out, but Bruce threw up a fuss once he found out and Alfred had given in, puzzled, as Bruce tended not to throw tantrums. The young master could be picky, cheeky, even stubborn at times, but he was even tempered often enough.

 

“Are you sure you’d rather not wear this?” Alfie countered, holding up a smart little Oxford coat, cool grey, and tailored to Bruce’s size.  The man resisted a sigh when Bruce shook his head emphatically. Whatever had happened during the young master’s kidnapping, it had left him attached to the ugly worn coat and the dirty hat he’d brought home with him.

 

It wouldn’t do to let Bruce out of the house in such shabby attire, but the boy would fight him tooth and nail until he got his way.  He could easily arrange another trip for Bruce to see the park if he missed the bus, but going with his peers would be more difficult to rearrange and Alfred knew it would make his charge grumpy for ages.  With a sigh, the man resignedly put away the Oxford coat and brought the disgusting tan excuse for outerwear out of the closet.  The Master and Mistress would not be pleased if they knew, but the bright smile Bruce gave him in return made the sacrifice of dignity worth it.  Probably.  

 

Rather than have a chauffeur do it, Alfred personally dropped Bruce off at school.  He pulled up at the front gates in the Aston Martin (6) and quickly checked his charge over.  “Be careful now, Master Bruce.  If anything appears suspect, you must run off right away.  Stay with your class.  Do _not_ go investigating.”

 

“Yes, Alfred.”  

 

“I mean it, Master Bruce.  Do _not_ go adventuring on your own.”

 

Bruce heaved a sigh.   _“Yes,_ Alfred.”

 

The ride to the park did not take long as they left sometime after noon, when the lunch rush traffic had died down.  Bruce had been sat next to Johnny Lopez, a twitchy boy who smelled like peppers and collected bottle caps.  It was an unbearable ride on the yellow bus (7) as Bruce stared intently out the window, and Johnny chatted loudly with his friends in the rows behind and across from them.  They didn’t talk about anything interesting like mysterious caves in the arid desert or recent archaeology findings from around the world.  

 

It was chilly when they arrived, but Bruce was happy enough to prowl around, warm in his coat.  He spent the first while gleefully pretending he was a traveler on the plains, searching for shelter and food.  The other kids had already split into their own groups, but that was ok.  Bruce was used to playing on his own.  He had full control of where his adventures went.  

 

It was as he stumbled under a tree, laying out the foundations for his winter cabin in sticks and pebbles that he noticed a strange sight: several shadows darted by swiftly near the edge of the park.  Before he could figure out what they were, they had moved out of view into the thicket of trees growing near the edge of the river.  

 

He wanted to follow it, but Alfred had forbade him from going off on his own.  Actually, the man had told him to run if he encountered anything suspect, but only nefarious things were suspect right?  The event was simply...mysterious.  If Bruce got permission to play closer to where the trees were, he wouldn’t technically be adventuring.  He’d only happen to be playing close to where something mysterious was happening.  

 

Excited, Bruce quickly ran back to where his teacher was sitting on a park bench.  She’d been keeping a cursory eye on the rest of the class as they frolicked in the grass, but when Bruce came over, she turned to him in concern.  

 

“Bruce?  Is something the matter?”  

 

“Ms. Tinsdale,” Bruce huffed, “may I please play nearer the river?” (8)

 

“The river?” His teacher repeated with hesitance.  She chewed her lip uncertainly and Bruce knew he'd have to be thoughtful in how he answered back if he wanted to get away.  “You could fall in though…”

 

“I’ll be extra careful! I want to try looking for fishes.”  He pouted at her, taking care to appear as pitiful as possible, the way he’d practiced with Mommy.  

 

She stared at him, so he pouted harder and harder until Ms. Tinsdale was practically cooing at him. I suppose it couldn’t hurt, and you are quite the mature little boy.  Make sure not to leave the park though!”

 

Bruce beamed.  “Thank you, Ms. Tinsdale!”

 

Consent received, Bruce happily ran off towards the grove of trees near the river, the same grove into which the mysterious shadows had entered.   Ms. Tinsdale had likely not been expecting him to go out of sight, but he’d made sure she wasn’t watching when he darted into the bushes.  Besides, he wasn't technically leaving the park...just going further into its edges.

 

This close, he could hear strange muffled thuds.  He followed the noises deeper into the grove of trees, and as he got further in, the sounds got louder, becoming more like grunts and hits.  He tried to identify what he was hearing, but it was difficult.  Whatever was making the sounds was even deeper in the trees than he’d realized.  The grunts sounded like a person, but the hits following it sounded almost liquid, strangely wet and organic.  It was so familiar, almost like the blob monsters Nightwing had been fighting almost a week ago.  

 

Was it the same sound?  

 

A shadow passed by in his periphery and then a bright white light blinded him, as if a flash bomb had just gone off.  He wasn’t certain, but he might have screamed in surprise.  What was happening!?  Something gripped his ankle and tugged hard.  A flash of black and blue went by the edge of his vision, the colours making him think of Nightwing, and then he was falling, vision swirling with colours as he was violently pulled backwards.

* * *

Bruce woke up later, groggy and head pounding, though how much later he was unsure of. The sun was still up in the sky, so likely not too long, but he couldn't see it from where he was. It could even be the next day for all he knew.

 

The gut wrenching sensation of dropping had went on for much longer than he would have expected, and the colours that had flashed by his eyes were so bright that they hurt. At some point, he’d blacked out, though he couldn't recall doing so.

 

He glanced around in a daze, blearily taking in the drastically changed location. The park's lush greenery was gone, replaced by dirty brick walls and concrete.  The nearby graffiti, the disgusting open dumpster, and the dirty puddles added to what he already knew: he was in an alleyway.

 

It was relatively quiet, but he could hear the muted hum of a city beyond the alley. The muffled honk of traffic and the murmur of large crowds of people. Unlike the chilly early spring air of the park, the alley was warm.  His jacket, which had earlier been cozy, felt stifling, but he wasn't going to take it off until absolutely necessary.

 

Gingerly, Bruce adjusted himself so he sat against the brick.  His head still hurt, but the pounding was receding.  He’d been taught to remain in place if he ever got lost, however he didn’t think those lessons ever took into account completely jumping locations.  The experience was novel and after contemplating his situation, it seemed better to go exploring rather than wait.  The likelihood of his teacher finding him down this dirty alley which was who-knew-where was slimmer than his chances of returning to the park on his own.  

 

Bruce stumbled out of the alley on shaky legs, shielding his eyes at the increase in daylight.  For a moment he could see only white, but then his vision adjusted and he gasped in surprise.  Building after building lined the streets, their glass and steel structures stretching so high up that he couldn’t see their tops.  The traffic seemed endless, consisting of so many colours of cars backed up as far as he could see, spewing smoke and noise while a sea of people passed up and down the sidewalks.  

 

He turned, awed by the massive city around him, overwhelmed by the sheer _amount_ of everything around him.  Gotham was a huge city crowded with skyscrapers, but where he was now was even bigger, even noisier.

 

Where was he? (9)

* * *

Gotham had always been a noisy city, but this strange not-Gotham was simply cacophonous.  Bruce wandered aimlessly down the streets, searching for any sign of Ms. Tinsdale and his class.  He’d even settle for seeing Johnny.  Some people stopped him on different occasions to ask if he was ok or where his parents were, but mostly he was left to himself.  Between the worn out yellow jacket and the dirt he’d picked up from waking in the dirty alley, he must have appeared homeless to anyone glancing at him. (10)

 

From the ads strewn around the city, whatever snatches he’d noticed on the newspapers, and eavesdropping upon the crowd around him, he slowly pieced together that he really _was_ in Gotham.  It was a Gotham unlike any he’d ever seen before.  The whole city looked newer than what he remembered - clean in a way he’d never thought Gotham could be - and the skyline had changed drastically. There were more buildings, new one’s in familiar and unfamiliar places. Everything looked so _weird._ The cars were all funny looking, everyone was dressed strangely, and everyone sounded funny too.  

 

There was no way Gotham could have changed so drastically in such a short time.  Bruce had been knocked out, but he hadn’t grown up or anything, so not much time had passed.  Was he...was he in the future?  The proper question would then be _“when_ was he” rather than “where was he”.  It certainly didn’t look like any depictions of the future he’d seen before in films.  How far from his time was he?  

 

His heart skipped a beat as realized that if he was in the future, he might possibly see Nightwing again.  Hopefully Nightwing was around.  Bruce dearly hoped he was.  

 

Eventually, Bruce stopped at the corner near a newsstand where a twiggy old man was selling magazines, newspapers, and gum.  He took a peek to see if there was any [ Dubble Bubble or Fruit Stripe ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_chewing_gum_brands), but there was only unfamiliar packaging all around.  Disappointed, he scanned across the various shiny magazine covers until he noticed one headline showing a frightening man in an all black suit, a blur of yellow, green, and red behind him.

 

 _[_ [ _BATMAN & ROBIN: GUARDIANS OF GOTHAM _ ](https://d1466nnw0ex81e.cloudfront.net/n_iv/600/2522162.jpg) _.  A look back at the past year.]_   

 

“Batman”.  Wasn’t that a scary thought?  A bat once got into Daddy’s study and he hadn’t liked it at all.  It had been dark and creepy and it flittered about like a giant disgusting bug.  Why would anyone ever want to dress up like a bat?  Maybe...maybe the man was an actual bat?  A gigantic man-bat.  Which was frankly horrific to imagine and Bruce ranked it right under the blob monsters Nightwing had fought off in the alley in terms of terror.  

 

The “Robin” sounded a lot better than a Batman.  Birds were nice.  Nightwing liked birds.

 

Now that he'd noticed Batman and Robin, other strangely dressed individuals jumped out at him from the other magazine covers.  There was a rather handsome fellow in blue and red with a large “S” across his chest.  A gorgeous woman with a lot of muscles in a scandalously short skirt.  Bruce thought one fellow might possibly be a cyborg.  From a man in red spandex to a woman with wings on her back, the strange assortment of people on the front pages were either saving people or performing phenomenal feats of catching falling buildings and soaring through the sky.

 

Were these people superheroes?  The outlandish skin tight outfits certainly reminded Bruce of his husband-to-be, and their supernatural strengths were not far off in absurdity from what Nightwing had saved him from that night.  Bruce could only assume they were.  There seemed to be a lot of superheroes in Gotham now, which was unimaginable to Bruce as none existed in his time. Superheroes existed outside of Gotham, not in it. Was Nightwing part of a new trend?

 

Before he could think much more on it, his attention was caught by something else.  Two men, one tall and dark, another short and scruffy, had just crossed the street and were heading down the sidewalk past the stall Bruce was standing by.  Between them, the two were carrying two large duffel bags.  They were dressed in all black, glancing around shiftily, and speaking to each other in hushed whispers. They were definitely up to something shady and Bruce wanted to know what.  He scampered after the two figures, superheroes and being potentially lost in time completely forgotten in his curiousity. He followed them down twisting back roads and across streets.  It looked like they were heading towards the Diamond District, but it was hard for Bruce to tell because the city was so different now.  He wasn’t even sure where he was exactly at the moment.  

 

They walked quite a distance, Bruce nearly losing them because of the crowds and traffic, but they eventually slowed down.  The men were approaching a dark building with a lot of neon signs on the outside, none of which were on because of how bright the day was.  

 

_Iceberg Lounge_

 

He’d never heard of the place before.  Instead of going in from the front doors, the two men ducked around the back, and Bruce followed them not far behind.  He trailed them all the way to the far end of the building, then had to duck behind a garbage can for cover when one of them happened to glance around.  The two had stopped before a side door of imposing steel.  To its side was a[ strange keypad - was it a lock? ](https://gizmodo.com/the-history-and-future-of-locks-and-keys-1735694812) \- he’d only ever seen in movies before.  It seemed they were about to enter.  The timing was crucial, he had to reach the door before it closed, but only after the men had entered.  

 

“I’m so ready for a beer.”  

 

“C’mon, we’re done now.  Last one for the day.”  

 

Bruce watched like a hawk as the shorter man punched in a number code - 09825 - and press his thumb to the bottom, then the door was opening and the two were heading in.  It was time!  He held his breath for five tense seconds before dashing out as silently as he could toward the door.  Please let him make it!  He nearly skidded, recovered, and slapped his hands out.

 

Success!  

 

The execution had been much louder than he’d wanted, but he’d just managed to brace the door before it could close and lock.  Grinning like a loon, he gently eased the gap open until he could fit through.  It was difficult work as the door was heavy, but Bruce was soon inside the building.  

 

Inside was much darker than outside, and he blinked as he adjusted to the change in lighting.  Luckily, no one else was in the hall at the moment, and he just caught sight of the tail of a black coat as it disappeared around the corner.  He followed after, but when he turned the corner the corridor after was empty.  

 

Huh? He swore they'd just turned the corner though.

 

Before he could scream, a rough hand clamped itself over his mouth and nose, and dragged him backwards into a rough embrace. Oh no, there’d been someone behind him!  Whoever had grabbed him was too strong to fight off; no matter how much he kicked and screamed, he couldn't break free.  He struggled until his vision started blacking at the edges.  Too tight!  The person was gripping too tight, and he couldn't breath.  

 

“Oi, Greg, you're suffocating the kid.”

 

Bruce registered a faint grunt from the person holding him - Greg - and then the fat fingers adjusted so that they were off his nose, though still clamped tight around his mouth.  Bruce immediately sucked in air greedily.  “Oopsie.  Good catch, Mel.”

 

Mel snorted.  “What should we do with ‘im?”  Greg asked.  

 

“Kid or not, he shouldn’t have been able to access this area.  We’ll have to bring him to the backroom for questioning.”  

 

It seemed kidnappers were far more efficient in the future.  There was no long, boring, drawn-out wait for the next event.  Mel used an incredibly small walkie-talkie to talk to someone, then she followed behind as Greg easily carried him down the hall to a sparse break room at the end of the corridor.  Bruce was promptly manhandled into a chair, tied down, and barely fifteen minutes passed (he knew because he'd been watching Mel’s strange square watch) before a portly fellow came waddling in.  

 

He had to have been the strangest individual Bruce had ever met, and that was saying something considering how strange elderly Mr. Spearrows was anytime Bruce happened to see him at one of Mommy's parties.  The newcomer was unnaturally pale, his skin and hair exuding an oily sheen despite the fine cut of his pinstripe suit.  His long nose was like a beak, and with his top hat on, the man looked uncannily like a penguin.

 

“How did a child get in here?” He demanded.  

 

Greg stammered, “Uh, not sure, Boss.  We heard footsteps and then there he was!”

 

The penguin man raised an eyebrow at him.  He didn't seem to believe Greg, but then again, he didn't know Bruce.  Bruce was Martha-Wayne-trained.  He was a lot sneakier than people realized.  An awkward silence took the room as Greg’s boss stared him down and Greg began to sweat heavily in anxiety.  

 

Right before it became unbearable, Mel sighed and jumped in.  “He’s not exaggerating, Boss.  Kid really did appear out of nowhere.”

 

“Children do not form out of _midair.”_

 

Mel was not the least bit cowed by his sarcasm.  “My guess is he must have snuck in with the last rotation of shipments.  Jake and Mohamed have been sloppy lately.”

 

She stood her ground, staring down the penguin man with steel in her eyes.  Her answer seemed satisfactory enough for the boss, and after a moment of contemplation, he gave her a nod.  Then he turned his attention upon Bruce.

 

“Who are you, boy?” The penguin man spat.

 

Bruce was not impressed by his rude tone, not at all. He was marginally better than Garlic Breath and co., but only because Bruce had yet to have a gun aimed at him.  Kidnappers of all kind had no class apparently.

 

“None of your business,” he snapped back, receiving a deep scowl in return.  

 

“Cheh, just a brat.  Where are your parents, _little boy?”_  Penguin Man sneered at him.  He stalked a heavy circle around Bruce, clearly attempting to scare him into compliance.  “How did you even wander into here? Come to have a gander at old Cobblepot?” He said it with the bitter air of someone who had long gotten used to being the punchline of a joke.  

 

Despite himself, Bruce felt a twinge of sympathy.  Whatever snarky answer he might have given evaporated, and he ended up offering a shaky compliment-excuse, hoping the penguin man would take him as an unfortunate child at face value.  “You’re, uh, really funny looking. It’s cool.”

 

Penguin Man blinked at him owlishly, suddenly looking a lot more interested in Bruce. He leaned in close and peered carefully at the boy, scrutinizing his face from several angles. He felt uncomfortable with the close analysis and glanced around awkwardly, trying to avoid meeting that uncanny gaze. Perhaps sympathy hadn't been the best idea.  Penguin Man also smelled like a bad fish - a Gotham fish - and if you’d smelled Gotham’s water streams, then you’d know how bad that was.  Maybe “Fish Breath” would have been a more apt name than Penguin Man.

  
"You..." Penguin Man murmured. One of his strange flipper hands came up and grasped Bruce's chin. His skin was cold and clammy - really just like a fish.   _A Gotham fish_ , Bruce added mentally.  He rudely manoeuvred Bruce around, twisting his face to different angles. “Do you belong to one of the grunts?”  

 

“Don’t think so, Boss,” Greg answered.  “I’ve never seen him around before.”  

 

Penguin Man hummed curiously.  “No, I suppose not.  In fact, you look a great deal more like _him._...A son?  Perhaps illegitimate?”

 

Bruce didn’t understand.  Who was the Penguin Man referring to?  His Daddy?  Bruce already knew he looked a lot like his Daddy, but if Penguin Man was a Gothamite, he should have known who Bruce was.  

 

“Who’s ‘him’?” Bruce questioned.  

 

Penguin Man ignored him and continued to examine him, now with a manic gleam in his beady black eyes. “Yes,” the gross man chuckled.  “There’s no way you aren’t. You look _just_ like him. You’ll be useful yet.”  He erupted into a full blown cackle.  Bruce hadn’t ever thought people in real life could laugh like that; it was such a cliche villain cackle.  

  
_Oh_ _dear_ , Bruce sighed mentally. Less than a week since his last kidnapping and here he was already tied back to a chair. Perhaps Alfie hadn’t been exaggerating when he described Bruce as a trouble magnet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) First heard of this little ‘gem’ from one my classes! Its actual authenticity is [debatable](https://www.snopes.com/history/document/goodwife.asp), but I figure that the DC Universe is fictional, so a potentially fictional resource is fine to throw in. Plus, it fit my plot nicely. :3c  
> 2) I did NOT realize that Bruce drawing was [actually a canon thing.](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/72/8a/56/728a56f138a952682aedb1234a68201d.jpg)  
> 3) Martha’s actual job is somewhat a mystery for me. I have her as working with charities in my head while Thomas is the one who brings in their income.  
> 4) I’ll admit I have not read Hush and know very much about Thomas apart from what I’ve skimmed in wikipedia. This is already some weird mash up of different timelines, so let’s just say this Tommy is the creepiest little bugger and that Bruce only tolerates him because he’d be friendless otherwise.  
> 5) Bruce likes to think he laid out a carefully crafted argument for why he should go, but it was really more like he whined pitifully until Thomas caved in. To be fair, he did have a list, but it consisted mostly of how fun the park would be and how he’d be missing out on a normal childhood if he didn’t get to go.  
> 6) [If you’re interested in seeing some cars from the 60s.](http://www.latimes.com/business/autos/la-hy-70s-luxury-cars08-2008may08-pg-photogallery.html) I looked briefly at cars from the 70s, but it seems more realistic that the Waynes bought a good car (or several) the decade before and kept it in the garage. This version of Thomas probably has one of everything on the list in the link.  
> [Also this snippet is super cute and I forgot I found it.](http://deadshirt.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/bat21a.png) Essentially, my research is saying I should really be reading Zero Year?  
> 7) The 70s is basically when they made school buses safe. I did not know how long lived the school bus actually was, but the history is fascinating! They started as early as the 19th century as horse-drawn wagons to bring children to school. One of the biggest manufacturers of school buses was Wayne Corporation (surprise!) up until the 80s, but they’ve since gone bankrupt.  
> 8) Let’s just pretend I didn’t make up the park as I went because it’s difficult to find image pictures. The Robinson Park of this universe’s Gotham had more extensive greenery in Bruce’s youth before the earthquake and urban development cut it down to more open scenery.  
> 9) I was just going to cut it off here, but it felt too cruel to have you all wait months for this chapter and not give even a bit of action.  
> 10) [A video on just that.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDFbthW53fg) I remember seeing it a long time ago and it left an impression on me. 
> 
> When you first read this prompt, bet none of you were expecting baby Bruce himself to time travel! :D 
> 
> Important question: how open are you to me including cute shenanigans with baby Broose? On a scale of ‘just stick with the plot’ to ‘can we visit the moon?’ There’ll be some that happen anyway because of timeline events, but I have a bunch more I can include just to buff up chapters and for fun. Things like clothes shopping and an entire extra subplot.


End file.
